The Haunted Mansion
by Caiwen Nallron
Summary: Shortly before Halloween, Masaki and Kichijouji go on a magic retreat at a haunted mansion. Both boys are skeptics and don't believe in ghosts, but when a spirit targets Kichijouji, their lives morph into a horror movie, and Masaki ends up in the fight of a lifetime. MasakixCardinal George
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** M [slash]

 **Pairings:** MasakixKichijouji, a.k.a. Ichijou/Cardinal George

 **Disclaimer:** "The Irregular at Magic High School" is the property of Satou Tsutomu. The fanfic author is not making any money from this story.

 **Author's Note:** Although the English anime subtitles call Kichijouji Shinkuro "George," I'll be using "Kichijouji," like the light novel. In Japanese, Masaki calls him "Jouji," so I will have Masaki do that in my stories, too. Obviously, "Jouji" is a nickname from Kichijouji, but "Jouji" is also the Japanese version of "George." (Satou is being clever.)

 **Name Order:** I prefer to render Japanese names as they truly are—surname first—even when writing in English.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Kichijouji and Masaki arrived at the Wentworth Mansion late Friday evening: Friday the 13th. In October. The mansion in question had been built in 1889 by a British merchant who had set up a booming jewelry business once the Japanese borders had been opened, and it was now a center of tourism and a spot for retreats.

Kichijouji stepped out of the commuter and then hauled out his overnight suitcase, Masaki following suit. They were only staying the weekend. It was a magic retreat—one that Third Year students from all nine magic high schools had been able to apply for. The competition had been stiff, but Masaki and Kichijouji, along with one female classmate, were there to represent Third High. Shiba Miyuki had applied and been accepted, only to have to withdraw due to family business.

Kichijouji couldn't have been happier to have her be absent, although Masaki was bummed out.

"Looks like a decent mansion for a Halloween movie," Kichijouji said with no small irony. The truth was that seven horror films had used the Wentworth Mansion. "It even could be haunted—if I believed in such stuff." And he didn't.

Still, the mansion was a creep-fest. A twelve-foot-high brownstone wall surrounded the property, and cast iron gates normally barred the entry. The mansion was brownstone as well, with tall, narrow windows, huge double doors, and a widow's walk. Gargoyles decorated the front porch and the roof corners, all of the finely wrought so their demonic faces were easy to see.

Even as Kichijouji watched, a light flickered on and off repeatedly in the attic window.

Kichijouji peered up at Masaki and smirked. "Looks like one of the other students is already having fun pranking everyone."

"Or a servant is lighting lamps," Masaki said. He grimaced. "I don't believe they even have electricity. And that means no wi-fi." He nodded at the attic. "For all we know, that's where some of us are going to have to stay. Sometimes these old mansions have really small rooms on the inside."

"Surely they have electricity by now," Kichijouji protested. He headed up the walkway to the front doors. "Well, if they don't, we can use the hotspot from one of our phones." Kichijouji did not go anywhere without his tablet. The only possible exception was the beach.

When they reached the front porch, the doors creaked opened on their own.

"See, they have electricity," Kichijouji said, heading inside. "They have automatic doors." He paused inside the foyer and glanced around, Masaki coming to stand beside him. The doors closed behind them with more creaks of protest.

"Dreary," Kichijouji sighed. The entire foyer and hallway beyond it were done in dark wood. The woodwork extended halfway up the walls, topping off with a chair rail. The staircase was off to the left, the banister and stairs also dark wood. Kichijouji guessed it was maple stained dark cherry. The rest of the walls and the ceiling were plain white, and there were no windows except a small round one at the landing of the staircase. A dim chandelier hung overhead, its old bulbs emitting little light. "They might as well not have electricity," he quipped, wondering where the event staff member was. Wasn't someone supposed to be on hand to greet them when they arrived?

"This place hasn't been renovated since the1990s. I guarantee it," Masaki said. He grinned. "I'll bet you our next takeout bill I'm right." He glanced around and pouted. "I'm glad Miyuki-san isn't here after all. I can't imagine a clan princess being happy to stay in surroundings like this."

Since Masaki wasn't looking, Kichijouji frowned. The topic of Miyuki irritated him at this point. Masaki had gotten nothing but heartache out of this venture, and by now it was obvious to Kichijouji that Miyuki had been in love with her own brother all this time. _Forget her, Masaki. There is only pain here._ He looked away. _Besides, there is someone already here with you who knows you—all of you—and loves you unconditionally._

A thunder of footsteps descended the staircase. An elderly man who looked shockingly like a stereotype of a British butler scurried into the foyer. If not for the slant to his eyes, Kichijouji would have assumed he was fully Caucasian.

"M-my apologies for the wait," the man said, bowing. He wore a black suit and white shirt, and his grey-white hair was parted to the side, revealing a bald spot. A fine sheen of sweat shone on his forehead and his scalp. "A-all the other staff members are gone for the evening. It is only me."

Kichijouji and Masaki bowed in return. Kichijouji wondered why the man was so nervous.

"I am Wentworth Daiichi," the man said, whisking over to the side table in the foyer and picking up a tablet. "Welcome to m-my home. And you are?"

Kichijouji and Masaki introduced themselves, and Wentworth checked them off on the tablet's roster. Then Wentworth led them up to the third floor, where their room was.

"A buffet-style supper has been laid out in the dining room." Wentworth stopped by the door and handed them little brochures with a map of the mansion and historical information—the same brochures given for tours. "It's a come-and-go meal, not a scheduled one. Please h-help yourselves." He bowed and vanished.

Kichijouji stepped in and looked around the bedroom. There were two standard-sized beds, a tall chest of drawers, a fireplace, a sofa, and a coffee table—all of them Victorian. All the woodwork was dark, and striped green wallpaper with oversized roses covered the walls. Another dim chandelier hung overhead. "Well . . . at least it's period-appropriate."

Masaki laughed. "Halloween's come early. This is fantastic – it's almost too much to believe. At first I thought that Wentworth-sama was genuine, but his final stutter was feigned, wasn't it? This place is just unreal." He set his suitcase in the corner and tested the mattress of one of the beds with his hand. "It feels like a feather mattress."

"As in lumpy? Or comfortable?" Kichijouji wrinkled his nose. "I hope no one has bird allergies." He had allergies, but not to bird dander. He walked over and tested a pillow. It was definitely a feather pillow—lumpy and misshapen. "At least it's only two nights." He picked a corner and set his suitcase on the floor, opening it and picking through it.

The unmistakable sound of a harpsichord floated up from one of the floors below.

"Now I really feel like I'm on a movie set," Kichijouji said. The song sounded like a dirge. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Masaki.

Masaki was staring at the open doorway. A black cat slipped into the room and trilled.

Kichijouji had to laugh at this point. "And it's even black!" He watched as the cat made a beeline for Masaki and rubbed his legs. "Figures you wouldn't last even five minutes in a house without magically summoning any and all cats present." The Ichijou had five pet cats living in their mansion, and Masaki adored them all.

Masaki bent down and let the cat sniff his fingers. After he scratched its chin and behind its ears, it even let him pick it up. "You're sweet, aren't you, nyan-chan?" He held the cat against his shoulder. It sniffed his ear and then started grooming it. He squirmed a bit. "You're not haunted or creepy in the least." The cat purred in response. "Well, at least we have one ally against the Evils of the Spooky House."

The cat abruptly twisted, and Masaki let go. The cat jumped down, landed squarely on four paws, and then ran out of the room.

"Wild hair moment," Masaki commented. "Typical."

They heard the scrambling of claws and paws against the hardwood floor in the hall, and then nothing.

Kichijouji chuckled. "Yes. Typical." He unpacked his tablet and surge protector and then plugged them into a perfectly ancient-looking electrical socket. "Wow. That must be from the 1930s." He stood and joined Masaki. The harpsichord music abruptly stopped mid-measure. "I'm glad the player got bored," he said. "That song was getting depressing." He tilted his head. "Let's go downstairs and eat, yeah?"

Masaki nodded, and they headed back down the staircase. A burst of shrieks erupted from the second floor as they passed it—some male and some female.

"Must be telling ghost stories," Kichijouji said. "But isn't it a little early for that? They could at least wait until dark."

Masaki grinned. "With an atmosphere like this, who needs to wait? I bet they were debating how many people have been murdered here for real. I already heard rumors that people died while filming some of the movies that were shot here. I don't believe it for a minute, since I couldn't find any proof on the internet it ever happened, but that's what people say."

A wicked grin lit Kichijouji's face. "I read that the original Wentworth-sama had one son and five daughters, and the youngest daughter went insane and killed three of her sisters in their sleep one night. Stabbed them with a butcher knife. Then the family took one of the attic rooms and converted it into a psychiatric hospital room with barred windows and a locked door. Supposedly the daughter, Henrietta, roams all over the mansion harassing both guests and staff. Meanwhile, the three sisters haunt their own rooms." He had always loved Halloween and scary stories. He was less into horror movies, but he would watch them in October.

Masaki chuckled. "Maybe we should have a vigil in each of the sister's rooms and see if we get touched or spoken to or something. Or we could try to take pictures with our phones and see if we catch anything spooky, like shadows or lights."

"Sure! Maybe we're even in one of the haunted rooms. I'll check our room against the map after supper." Kichijouji stepped into the dining room with Masaki and halted. "Uh . . ."

Upon first glance, the room didn't seem to be any different than the rest of the mansion: dark woodwork, matching dark furniture, and a tall, narrow window. But the normalcy died quickly. The dining room table chairs were stacked on the table, arranged like a house of cards. Forks and knives randomly stuck out of the walls as though someone had hurled them in self-defense.

Kichijouji frowned. "That's not funny. I get the whole Halloween scheme and all, but that wallpaper is original to the house. Fixing it is impossible, and replacing it will ruin the originality. We should use magic and fix it ourselves."

Masaki nodded. "I'm offended, too. We're guests here."

They spent the next five minutes using their magic to reverse all the damage and get the chairs back around the table.

The other students began trickling in and out for dinner, and Masaki and Kichijouji carefully questioned them. Everyone protested innocence and claimed they'd seen nothing.

Masaki sighed as a pair of Fourth High students departed the dining room. "Forget it."

"Yeah. No one's going to admit it doing it." Kichijouji headed with Masaki back to their room, his mind on a shower. There was only one bathroom per floor, so ten boys would be sharing the bathroom on their floor. Ten girls were staying on the second floor, as it turned out. All nine schools were represented by at least two students a piece.

Kichijouji dug through his suitcase for his bathing supplies. "I'll take an early shower. Or bath. Or whatever they have. That way I can beat the rush." Through the walls, he could hear male voices engaged in conversation, although he couldn't make out the words. He hoped everyone was too busy talking to charge the bathroom.

"Good idea." Masaki opened his suitcase and began unpacking it into the tall chest of drawers.

"Oh, yeah. Our room." Kichijouji sat on his heels and pulled the map out of his coat pocket. He unfolded it as he spoke. "Let's see. We're in Polly's room." He checked it and then shot a grin at Masaki. "We're in luck! Polly was the second to eldest daughter, and she was one of the murder victims. Let's take some recordings. You know, do that thing where you ask questions and record the silence and hope you got something? The equipment at work will be powerful enough to analyze it." As an employee, Kichijouji was allowed to access any and all of the equipment at the Kanawaza Magic Research Institute.

Masaki smiled. "Sure." He just liked to see Kichijouji excited about something. The way Kichijouji's eyes gleamed and the way his energy spiked was deeply appealing to Masaki. "If nothing else, we'll get noises that will creep out the other students. We can stir them up and torture them a bit."

Kichijouji laughed. "Good point!" He stowed the map and then shed all the layers of his uniform except the white shirt and pants. He tucked a t-shirt and PJ pants under his arm, grabbed his bag of bathing supplies, and padded away.

The bathroom was not quite what he had expected. Fortunately, the toilet was in a separate room, thus allowing everyone else access while ten boys took a bath. A white porcelain, claw-foot bathtub awaited him, and a pipe with a shower head had been tacked on at some point. A free-standing sink was by a tiny, round, stain-glass window. A mirror so old it had black spots hung over the sink; it was clearly original to the mansion.

A white shower curtain hung on a circular rod, providing a barrier in 360 degrees.

"It really is like an old movie," Kichijouji murmured. He stripped off and got set up. A fancy wire rack held rolled up towels and rags. Kichijouji availed himself of the supplies and then waited five minutes—or what felt like five minutes—for the water to warm up.

"Old plumbing," he groaned to himself when he finally got into the shower.

Ten minutes into the hottest shower Kichijouji could manage, he heard a shrill metallic grating sound. He frowned to himself and pulled aside the shower curtain, peering around the room. The old, porcelain doorknob was turning, but of course the door was locked.

"It's occupied," Kichijouji snapped, wondering how the boy on the other side of the door couldn't hear the shower running.

The knob turned back and forth.

Kichijouji sighed and shut the curtain. "Whatever. He'll figure it out." He finished washing and then just let the hot water beat down on his tight neck. Long rides always made his neck tight.

A cold draft snapped through the room.

"What the hell?" Kichijouji jerked the curtain back.

The door was wide open.

 _That was locked._ Kichijouji narrowed his eyes. _Some jerk just used magic to open the door. Why? Because he thought I was taking too long? It's only been fifteen minutes or so._

Kichijouji waved his hand at the door. It wasn't like he needed his CAD for a spell this simple.

The door slammed shut.

"Asshole," Kichijouji muttered. He set to work drying himself off before some other jerk could open the door on him.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in their room, Masaki set up Kichijouji's laptop that he'd gotten through the Institute. The laptop was, of course, state of the art. Kichijouji sometimes joked he could control a satellite with it because it was so powerful.

As soon as he finished, Masaki plopped down on his bed and shifted until he got relatively comfortable. A faint musty smell came from somewhere around him. He sighed. The smell itself didn't bother him, but his dust allergies might take offense.

Kichijouji padded into the room, the black cat entering with him. It jumped onto Masaki's bed and sniffed Masaki's face.

"Some asshole opened the bathroom door on me," Kichijouji said, stowing his bag of bathing supplies and his used clothing. "Apparently fifteen minutes is too long for a shower around here."

Maski snorted and sat up. The cat crawled all over his lap, rubbing and pawing. He petted it. "Did you tell him off?"

"Didn't get the chance. He was already gone." Kichijouji relocated to the loveseat, noticing that Masaki had left the laptop on the coffee table. It was slim but had a seventeen-inch screen, making it four times larger than Kichijouji's tablet. More to the point, it was four times more powerful. "He better hope I don't figure out who he is, though." He pulled up the recording program. "Well, want to run our experiment?" He peered out the window; night had fallen. "It's the perfect time."

Masaki grinned. "Yeah." He rubbed the cat under its chin. "Want me to start asking questions? Or should we take turns?"

"You can start." Kichijouji hit record and then leaned over, turning out the floor lamp by the sofa. The only remaining light was from the laptop screen. "Okay. Go for it."

"What is your name?" Masaki asked. After an appropriate pause, he asked, "When did you die?"

The cat's eyes had been closed, but now they snapped open, and it stopped purring.

"Come on, don't you like séances? You're a black cat," Masaki teased. "Or should I say scaredy-cat?"

Kichijouji watched the cat carefully. Although he didn't believe in ghosts, he was well aware that people claimed animals could see them. "If you are Polly, is it true your sister Henrietta killed you?" He paused and gave time for an answer. "I'm sorry we can't hear you with our human ears. But because we can't, I have to ask another question. Does Henrietta still bother you?" Goosebumps raced over Kichijouji's arm, and he frowned. Nothing was happening, but he suddenly felt chilled. _The heat from the shower is wearing off. I might have to put on my jacket._

The cat let out a low, warning growl and swished its tail, which was suddenly fluffed up like a toilet brush. Masaki gingerly petted its head. It jerked away and leapt off his lap. "You'd think we were doing something dangerous," Masaki remarked.

The cat hid under his bed.

Masaki rubbed his arms. "Now it's cold in here. I guess I should have expected that now that the sun's gone down. This place wouldn't have any central heating. It's too expensive to put in, and would ruin a lot of the original architecture."

"True." Kichijouji stood and headed to his suitcase, pulling out the jacket. It was actually the lightweight jacket from his gym uniform—soft cotton and well broken in.

He returned to the loveseat and pulled his feet up onto the seat, tucking his legs. "One last question, and then we'll leave you in peace. If there was one thing you wanted everyone to know—everyone who visits here or everyone in the city—what would it be?"

Goosebumps flashed over Kichijouji's arms again. The lamp beside the sofa suddenly fell over, the Victorian shade with its long fringe bouncing against the floor.

"Shit!" Kichijouji jumped up and stared at it. "I didn't do that!"

Masaki jumped up as well. "I bet the cat knocked into it. Don't panic." He righted the lamp and adjusted the shade on it. "It doesn't do any good if we get spooked ourselves. We're the skeptical scientists, remember?"

Kichijouji relaxed. "Right." He reached down and shut off the recording function. "The cat is the only logical explanation." He shut the laptop lid, leaving them in darkness. The moonlight seeped through the window, and after a moment, Kichijouji's eyes adjusted until he could see. "Well, we better let her out. Or him." He walked over to the door and opened it.

A black streak shot pass Kichijouji's feet and into the hallway. _Cat. Right. No big deal._ He shut the door and turned back toward Masaki, who was still standing by the lamp.

Beyond Masaki, by the fireplace, hung a blue orb.

Kichijouji snapped his arm up and pointed. " _Masaki!_ "

Masaki turned and looked. "Whoa. A spirit. Well, ancient magic and spirits aren't my strong suit. I'm surprised I can see it at all. Do you see a color or shape, Jouji?"

"Blue," Kichijouji said. "And it's just an orb from my point of view. Do you think we have an ancient magic user here messing with everyone? I mean, summoning a nature spirit or a phantom of some kind could possibly mimic a ghost haunting."

Masaki nodded with a frown. "I'd guarantee it. What do you want to bet it's Yoshida Mikihiko from First High?" They'd seen him at supper. Masaki drew his CAD. "Yoshida doesn't seem like much of a prankster, but his friends could have put him up to it."

Kichijouji punched a code into his wrist CAD. "Right." He was still sore over his loss to Mikihiko, given he'd been electrocuted and had spent three days light sensitive and tormented with a headache—even after he'd been worked on by the healers. He wasn't genetically engineered, after all. He couldn't get hit by a car or thrown off a motorcycle and simply feel achy.

Taking aim, Kichijouji fired a warning shot just to the side of the spirit. Since he didn't know what it was, he didn't want to hit it. He also didn't want to damage the fireplace, so he used a simple flash spell. "Go on, now. Go bother whoever summoned you."

The blue orb zipped through the wall.

Ten seconds later a chorus of male shrieks rent the air.

Kichijouji sighed and lowered his hand. "Well, I hope the spirit took my suggestion, because if so, the people who got that spirit deserved the scare."

Masaki laughed. "Yeah. Instant karma, I guess. Or nearly instant."

Kichijouji smiled. He smiled just to hear Masaki laugh.

"Well, enough of that. I want sleep." Kichijouji headed to the door, locking it, and then climbed into his bed. He didn't want to admit it, but their little experiment had unsettled him slightly, even if he didn't believe in ghosts. He did believe in spirits, after all. He had to. Every magician knew ancient magic users could summon nature spirits and phantoms. An angry nature spirit could do a lot of damage, and phantoms were summoned for the express purpose of doing damage.

But Masaki was there. And that was another thing Kichijouji wouldn't admit aloud: just having Masaki there made him feel safer. He and Masaki had been friends for five years. More than that, Kichijouji had been in love with Masaki for five years. And the first thing Masaki had done when they'd met was help save Kichijouji's life.

Kichijouji sat up in bed a moment, his legs tucked under the covers. "Hey, Masaki. Do you think it's safe to go to sleep?"

Masaki nodded. "We sent them a message. I doubt they're going to try anything again tonight. It's just schoolyard ribbing, after all, even if we're all magicians and play around with forces civilians would faint at. In the morning, they'll make snide comments, and we'll just pretend we don't know what they're talking about." He changed into his pajamas, turned down the covers, and climbed in. Privately, he wondered what lengths the other students might go to for a good Halloween scare, but he told himself he was here, and he and Kichijouji would figure something out. Besides, when this was all over, he'd report the pranking to school officials, and then the students in question would get disciplined. This wasn't a competition, after all; it was a cooperative retreat.

"Okay." Kichijouji scooted down the bed and lay down, pulling the covers up to his chin. He stared at the ornate ceiling, a design having been laid into the plaster. _It'll be fine. It was probably just a low-level water spirit or something, although I'm not sure why I could see it. That's not exactly my area. Perhaps it was a low-level phantom instead. Or genjutsu, maybe?_

The self-reassurances weren't fully confident ones, but despite that, Kichijouji allowed himself to go to sleep.

* * *

Shortly after 3 AM, Kichijouji awakened and had to use the bathroom. _Typical,_ he thought, sliding out of bed. _I only get awakened in the night like this when I'm on trips._ He zipped up his jacket, slipped out of the room as quietly as possible, and hugged his arms to his chest as he padded down the hallway. Just as Masaki had predicted, it was cold in the mansion. _Ridiculously cold,_ Kichijouji thought as he reached the bathroom. _It's a wonder I can't see my breath._

He ended up washing his hands with cold water when he was done, and he opened the door with every intention of half-running back to his warm bed. But when he stepped into the hallway, he came face-to-face with a woman.

"Sorry!" he whispered, having nearly run into her. In the second it took him to apologize, his brain caught up with the sheer horror of what he was seeing.

He could see right through the woman.

And she looked like his mother.

Kichijouji stared, struck mute. Unlike Japanese folklore, the spirit was fully formed, with legs and feet. She looked just like he remembered her: shiny, black hair that hung in a curtain down to her chin; a rounded face like his own; large, crimson eyes like his own; and a pale complexion like his own. She wore one of her typical work suits: pale grey with dark grey pinstripes. And she smiled at him with a familiar warm smile.

 _This is too much!_ Kichijouji's inner self screamed. _If this is a prank, I'm going to kill whoever did it!_

The spirit stepped a fraction closer. "Shinkuro, sweetheart."

It was his mother's voice, to the best of Kichijouji's memory. That part was fading from his mind, and all their family video footage had been destroyed in the invasion. But having heard her voice again, it sounded right. Kichijouji backed up a step, tears stinging his eyes. "Please. Don't play with me this way. It's too cruel."

A concerned look washed over the spirit's face, furrowing her brow. "I'm not playing with you, Shinkuro. I can come see you here. This mansion is on a ley-line, and many séances have taken place here. It's a power sink now."

Kichijouji utterly panicked. He shot past the spirit, sprinting to his room and throwing the door open. "Masaki!"

Masaki awakened instantly at Kichijouji's shout and leapt out of bed with CAD in hand. He'd kept it under his pillow. "Jouji!" He flew to Kichijouji's side and tackled Kichijouji one-armed, twisting Kichijouji behind him and pointing his CAD down the hall. He saw a high level phantom and snapped into battle mode. "Shit!" _This has to be an ancient magic user's doing._

Kichijouji didn't even aim to be dignified about this. He felt like someone had lit a fire inside his lungs—or perhaps poured acid on his heart. Years of healing seemed to be ripped out of him in an instant, and his grief surged up fresh and bitter. "It spoke," he gasped, clutching Masaki's shirt with both hands and pressing up against his back. "It even _sounds_ like her!" He wasn't sure his sentence made sense, but then again, Masaki had seen a few pictures of his mother.

The spirit floated into the bedroom doorway and held out both hands. "Don't be upset, Shinkuro. This is a good chance for us. Most people don't get a chance to speak like this, and I died so abruptly." She folded her hands against her chest. "I love you, sweetheart. And your dad sends his love, too."

"Masaki," Kichijouji whimpered, near tears by this point.

"Go to hell!" Masaki couldn't see the phantom as anything other than a featureless, glowing blue-white humanoid with malicious glowing eyes, but the words he heard and Kichijouji's panic clued him in. "Where's your summoner?" Without waiting for an answer, he blasted the phantom, temporarily scattering it, and ran down the hall, pulling Kichijouji behind him. "Who summoned the phantom?" he yelled. His voice echoed down the hallway. "You're committing a crime! This is a peaceful retreat."

After the initial sprint, Kichijouji ended up holding Masaki's hand as they ran. They thundered down the stairs and ended up in the foyer. "We have to find Wentworth-sama."

From upstairs came the sound of scrambling footsteps and voices as some of the other students got up.

The spirit reformed in the middle of the foyer.

Kichijouji pressed up against Masaki's side, holding his hand so tightly it could have bruised.

The spirit pressed both hands to her chest. "Why are you running away, Shinkuro? Don't you want to speak with your mother?"

"Prove you're my mother," Kichijouji snapped. "Tell me what kind of birthday cake you made me when I was four years old."

The spirit lowered her arms. Then a smirk formed on her lips. "Oh, that game, huh?" Her face faded away until it was skeletal, and she opened her mouth unnaturally wide, displaying fangs. "Fine! Don't believe I'm your mother!" And then she shrieked so loudly Kichijouji's ears hurt.

Masaki blasted the phantom away again.

A dozen students raced down the stairs. At least three spells went off. The sudden glow of magic in the darkness left Kichijouji temporarily blinded.

The spirit turned on the newcomers and shrieked at them. Four pictures fell off the wall. The foyer table scooted across the floor.

Mikihiko came to the landing of the staircase, held up three cards with sutra, and cast a spell. He threw the cards at the spirit.

The spirit clawed the air with bony fingers and vanished, still shrieking.

By this point, Wentworth had arrived and turned on the foyer lights.

Kichijouji stared up at the white-faced Mikihiko and knew right away he hadn't summoned the spirit. In fact, he looked more like he was going to pass out.

"I'm so sorry," Wentworth said, bowing deeply. "We haven't had a haunting in some time. I was hoping the spirits would remain dormant during your stay." He straightened. "You may leave first thing in the morning if you don't wish to remain here. We'll refund you your money."

Kichijouji frowned. _I'm totally leaving. As soon as the sun is up. I never want to see anything like that ever again._ He peered up at Masaki. "Let's go back to our room," he whispered. He'd released Masaki's hand when the other students had arrived, but it had cost him. He felt jittery without the physical contact.

Masaki stared at Mikihiko. Their eyes met. Until Kichijouji spoke, Masaki had been frozen. He nodded slightly. Then he walked up to Mikihiko and bowed. "Thank you. May I ask you the favor of keeping an eye out for the source of the spirits and doing your best to combat them? You're likely the strongest ancient magic user here. Maybe the only one; I don't know. But I need to protect my best friend, and I can't do that by myself."

Mikihiko returned the bow. "Of course. That was a particularly powerful entity. I'll use everything I know and call with my family as well."

Kichijouji offered Mikihiko a bow also, and then he and Masaki retreated to their room.

As soon as the door was closed and locked, Kichijouji turned to Masaki. He realized this was probably his only chance to get a hug from the person he loved most in the world, and he was also deeply shaken by his experience. He stepped up to Masaki, his head bowed and a blush stinging his cheeks, and slipped his arms around Masaki's waist. "Thank you," he whispered. "That was . . . really bad."

Masaki was stunned for a split second. Then he wrapped Kichijouji in his arms and held Kichijouji against him tightly. He never thought he'd get a chance to act this way with Kichijouji. He'd never wanted Kichijouji to feel embarrassed or belittled. Friends ought to be equals, and he'd always tried to make Kichijouji understand they were. His protective instincts worried him in their potential to be misunderstood. "I'm furious. I can't believe someone would dare to mess with you that way. Who would – Who would even – After seeing how everyone reacted, I know it can't be another student. At least, not an ordinary student. Either we've been infiltrated, or someone laid a trap for us students knowing we'd be away from our families and schools. Someone wants something out of this. We can't let them win."

Masaki found himself cupping Kichijouji's head with one hand. "We won't let them win."

Kichijouji relaxed against Masaki's chest. Nothing could make up for being tormented by a spirit, but at least with Masaki holding him so tightly, Kichijouji felt less raw. The way Masaki cupped his head made warmth swirl through Kichijouji's body. "I can't imagine what they'd want." The adrenaline began draining out of his body, and quickly. "Or why they'd target me in particular. But I want to leave in the morning. If I have to see my 'dad' on top of my 'mom' . . ." He left the sentence unfinished; he didn't need to say anything more. He just squeezed Masaki's waist and rested his head against Masaki's shoulder.

Masaki was horrified at the idea. "You're right. We're leaving as soon as possible. I won't let that happen. I'll do anything to keep that from happening. Your grief is enough without having to see them. Whoever's shoving your loss in your face is inhuman." He hugged Kichijouji as tightly as he could. "Look . . . you can sleep in my bed with me tonight if you want to. I-I'm not trying to emasculate you or anything. I just want you to know – " He flushed.

Kichijouji's entire body tingled for a second. Although nothing could make up for being tormented by a spirit, Masaki was getting as close as someone could get. "I—I know. You wouldn't ever do—do something like that." He felt the blush in his cheeks. "But this is a really weird situation. And a bad one." _As though I would ever say no to such an offer, regardless of the reason!_ "So, yes. Thank you." He didn't dare look up at Masaki. He figured his hot blush would give his feelings away in an instant.

Masaki sighed with relief. "Good." He didn't dare acknowledge that he wanted to snuggle up with Kichijouji for its own sake. "Then let's go back to bed, yeah?"

"Yeah," Kichijouji whispered, letting go of Masaki temporarily. He was so warm by this point he had to discard his jacket on the foot of his bed. He had a moment in which he wondered if he were dreaming all of this.

Kichijouji let Masaki climb into bed first, trying to get a clue of how they'd be arranged. Masaki settled on his back, paused, and then spread out one arm in invitation.

In that moment, Kichijouji realized they were skirting around the edges of something more than "friendly." _Masaki . . . do you have these feelings for me, too? Do I dare even hope you could?_

Without a word, Kichijouji climbed in and lay down at Masaki's side, using Masaki's shoulder as a pillow and wrapping an arm around his waist. He rested one leg over Masaki's. _Oh my god. This is perfect. I've had a thousand daydreams that went like this._

Masaki was embarrassed by how good it felt to have Kichijouji lie on him this way. He pulled the sheet up around them and tucked them both in without dislodging Kichijouji. Then he squeezed Kichijouji's waist. "I hope you'll be able to get some sleep," he whispered. "I'm sorry this turned into such a disaster, Jouji. We wanted to have fun."

"It's okay." Kichijouji let his eyes drift shut. Masaki's warmth was soothing, and Masaki's unique smell—a mixture of shampoo and cologne and aftershave—filled his nose. It was wonderful. "I'll be able to sleep." He willed himself to say it: "You're here, after all." A renewed blush burned his cheeks, but he just snuggled in, taking from this moment all he could. _It'll be fine. We'll get through the night and go home first thing in the morning. And then I'll have this amazing memory of sleeping beside you._

Masaki held Kichijouji closely, touched beyond words and filled with the most wonderful feeling. He realized that Kichijouji had just verbally accepted his protection for the first time. Kichijouji had actually _said_ it. "Yes. I'm here." He rested his head against Kichijouji's. "Always."

Kichijouji felt as though he fell in love with Masaki all over again.

* * *

 _A/N: For the readers of "Just a Kiss," don't worry. I haven't dropped the story. The last two months of my life are tied in second place as the most stressful of my entire life. I just needed a break from serious themes. I needed to write something fun, and I love Halloween stories._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Kichijouji awakened at six o'clock that morning—his usual waking time for school—he found himself curled on his side. Masaki was spooning him, one arm laid over his waist. Kichijouji had a split instant of "Where am I and what happened" before remembering where he was. The memory of rolling over during the night and Masaki moving along with him emerged next.

Warmth swirled through Kichijouji—love, happiness, and just a tiny bit of arousal. _Despite the horrible situation, this is still the best morning of my life._

Kichijouji opted not to move. The bed was warm. Masaki was warm. The arm around him was warm. Heavy, but warm. Kichijouji suppressed a sigh of sheer contentment.

Masaki let out a little sigh at waking and reflexively hugged Kichijouji. He hadn't had any nightmares about spirits or ghosts. On and off throughout the night, he'd woken up enough to be aware of Kichijouji, and then contentedly returned to deeper sleep. Now, somewhat groggy from the unfamiliar bed, all he wanted was to stay here forever.

Then he remembered where 'here' was. And had to use the bathroom. And felt suddenly sticky all over from his pajamas, the feather bed, the thick covers, and the heat of two people versus the usual one. He groaned. "Okay. A shower, and let's get out of here. All I want is a quick shower before we go. I don't even want breakfast. We're getting out of this creep house. More importantly, someone's targeting you, and it's just not safe to risk another attack. Dad will understand."

Kichijouji smiled over his shoulder at Masaki. "Sounds good." He considered the implications of the shower. "Uh . . . I realize the bathroom here isn't a locker room. But could I stay in the bathroom with you while you shower? I don't trust evil entities to confine their torment to the night." Not like it was much of a morning to begin with. Not only was it pre-dawn, even as Kichijouji spoke, a clap of thunder shook the mansion, and a flash of lightning lit the window.

Masaki nodded. "We need to stick together." He allowed Kichijouji to get up, then followed. More thunder boomed overhead, shaking the house. "Yikes."

"Perfect for a haunted house," Kichijouji remarked, this time without humor.

Kichijouji grabbed his jacket off the foot of the bed, bundling up before heading down the hall with Masaki, who grabbed his bag of shower supplies and a change of clothes. As far as Kichijouji could tell, no one else was up yet.

Kichijouji stood out in the hallway while Masaki used the toilet—no amount of fear would cause him to violate Masaki's privacy in that way—and then they headed into the main bathroom. Kichijouji put a towel down on the tile floor, which was too cold to sit on at the mansion's current temperature, and Masaki got ready for his shower.

Although Kichijouji wasn't actually trying to stare at Masaki, he did get a glimpse of Masaki's finely muscular body. He'd seen it before in bath houses or in brief glimpses in the locker room, but that didn't make the sight any less beautiful now. To him, Masaki was like living artwork.

Masaki was focused on getting his shower done quickly. He jumped in as soon as the water was running and lathered and scrubbed. _I don't want to get electrocuted_ , he couldn't help thinking, given all the horror movies he'd seen. _I don't want to get electrocuted_.

Masaki jumped back out and toweled off, goosebumps racing over his skin from the cold water. "As soon as I'm decent and we've grabbed our bags, we're going. We can call from the train station to let Wentworth-sama know we've left. Or when we're already home, for all I care."

"Works for me." Kichijouji stood and returned his towel to the wire rack. It wasn't like the floor was dirty, after all.

Masaki yanked on his clothes, and they stepped out into the hallway. Kichijouji shivered from the cold blast; an air current was whisking down the hallway. "I saw a restaurant about ten minutes from here where we could get breakfast." He was hungry and didn't want to have to wait hours.

No reply came.

Kichijouji glanced over his shoulder.

Behind him, the hallway was empty.

"Masaki?" Kichijouji returned to the bathroom, thinking maybe Masaki had left something in there.

Empty.

A flash of lightning lit the round, stained glass window, coloring the white tiles with the red glow. A moment later, a clap of thunder shook the mansion again.

Kichijouji slowly turned and scanned the hallway. "No," he whispered. "That's impossible."

But there he was, alone.

* * *

Masaki froze as Kichijouji disappeared right in front of him. He reached out to grab the air where Kichijouji had been. _Something's magically wrong_. A sense of vertigo gripped him, making the hallway seem to spin. He headed toward the bedroom, walking slowly and using the wall as support. He kept bumping into the wall, his balance off. "Jouji? Can you hear me?"

No reply came.

 _What kind of spirit could do this?_ Masaki forced himself onward, his stomach turning from the nausea. _Oh, god, Jouji. Be safe!_

* * *

Kichijouji felt an uncanny silence settle upon him. The silence was so absolute he heard his ears ringing. "Masaki?" His voice sounded muffled to him. He turned toward their bedroom and started down the hall, but it looked wrong. The doors were at the wrong intervals, and all the doors were open. "What the hell?" He turned back, deciding to stay by the bathroom.

It wasn't there. The wall was smooth.

Kichijouji grew utterly still. _Did someone teleport me? Is that even possible? Or is this genjutsu?_ He kept his hand on the wall and headed toward the direction of his room again. _If it's an illusion, I'll feel the doors where they are in real life._

"That's good logic," a voice said from behind him, as though Kichijouji had spoken aloud.

Kichijouji's mother's voice.

Although he didn't want to, Kichijouji turned to face the apparition. It wore his mother's face again, and that made him nauseated. " _You_. What do you want from me?"

The non-mother smiled placidly and canted her head. "You feel grief. Loss. Pain. Part of you mourns. I suffer grief, loss, and pain. I mourn. We share these things in common."

Kichijouji was surprised to get a sensible answer. "I can't be the only person here with grief."

The apparition's smile widened. For a moment, Kichijouji could see beyond the illusion of his mother's face to a skull underneath. "You aren't. But yours is the most stirred up. I need that raw emotion."

A cold feeling settled in Kichijouji's chest. He turned away and began feeling his way down the hall again. "Need? For what?"

Behind him, the spirit just laughed.

* * *

By the time Masaki reached his bedroom, the vertigo had passed. He peered inside, but no one was there. He cursed. "I knew it." He did the only sensible thing he could think of. He ran towards the room where he knew the First High students were staying. "Everyone, wake up! Kichijouji Shinkuro is missing! He disappeared right out in front of me."

A spirit walked right through the door of Mikihiko's room. No human voices emerged from the room. No humans came out of any of the doors. In fact, the floor was silent.

This spirit appeared as Masaki's maternal grandmother, who had died four years earlier. She looked exactly as Masaki remembered: fully Caucasian, with grey-streaked auburn hair and blue eyes. She was tall—nearly as tall as Masaki—and thin. She wore an elaborate kimono—maroon with an understated magnolia flower design. Masaki remembered that kimono well; it had been a gift from his grandfather.

She folded her hands in front of her body and gave Masaki a sad smile. "I'm sorry you've been separated from your dear friend. I'll try to help you escape the mansion, but there's nothing I can do for your friend. _She_ has him."

Masaki leapt away. "Back off! What is it with you creatures? Can't you leave us humans alone? Who in this house angered you so much that you're coming around?"

The spirit bowed her head. "I'm not angry, dear child. You tried to talk to me last night. You asked me what I wanted everyone to know. I want everyone to know this house _isn't safe._ Only the Wentworths themselves can live here, and only those descended from my brother, specifically. Everyone else—servants, branch family, tourists—isn't safe. They stir up Henrietta."

"I didn't even listen to the recording," Masaki whispered, overwhelmed with the realization that he could sense gentle energy from the spirit. "I'm sorry." He lifted his chin. "I'm also not leaving here without Jouji. And whoever you are, you don't have to pretend to be my grandmother. It doesn't help."

The spirit shifted. A young woman, perhaps twenty years old, appeared instead. She was plain-featured, with a long face and a prominent, eagle-like nose. She had dark brown hair and matching eyes and ivory skin. She wore a Victorian gown in pine green, but it didn't cover the fact she was too thin. "Very well. I will be me." Polly glided down the hallway, clearly not walking. The skirt didn't move on the dress. "Retrieving your friend will be difficult. Too difficult for me alone." She frowned over her shoulder. "Henrietta intends to use him like a battery."

Masaki ran after her. _A battery? I don't even want to know what that means._ "Well, that's too fucking bad. I'm not going to let her. Where is Yoshida Mikihiko?"

"We can't access any of the other humans here," Polly said. "Henrietta has plane-shifted you and your friend, by which I mean that you are one-eighth out of alignment with the material plane of existence. You can't see or touch anyone. If you like, you can call out and tell people what has happened. They might be able to hear your voice. They won't be able to see you or touch you, though." She headed for the staircase. "If I can lead you far enough away from the mansion, the spell will wear off. Its range of effect has limits."

"Then what? I have to run back?" Masaki asked. He felt queasy at the idea of leaving the mansion at all if Kichijouji wasn't in tow. Before Polly could answer, he called out, "Everyone, Kichijouji and I have been plane-shifted out of alignment. The spirit of Wentworth Henrietta is attacking Jouji. Try to find a way to break the spell!"

Polly nodded with approval at Masaki's choice. "Be careful as we try to leave." She turned the corner and started down the staircase. "Henrietta loves to visually alter the house when she plane-shifts us."

Masaki topped the stairs and discovered not one but five staircases erupting off at different angles. None of them aligned with what he remembered. One staircase shot downward at a ridiculous slant. One staircase headed upward right through the ceiling. Two more arched gracefully off to the side—one to the right and the other to the left. The final staircase seemed the closest to what Masaki remembered, but it was missing most of its steps.

Polly paused and peered at him. "I see nothing different, so I must ask: Has the staircase been altered?"

Masaki nodded. "S-Substantially." He was rarely spooked or disoriented by his surroundings. His body gave a nasty internal lurch. He swallowed hard.

"Only one banister is real. Find it and cling to it." Polly seemed to glide down the staircase with the missing steps, but half of her skirt vanished into the staircase as she did. "Go slowly, Ichijou-sama." Masaki's name sounded harsher than usual because of Polly's British accent.

Masaki followed, clinging to the banister and willing himself not to look down, to imagine the steps as he knew they were. He felt solid steps under his feet.

Once they reached the foyer, another nasty shock awaited Masaki. The room was five times larger than he knew it to be and was filled with caskets. The crystal chandelier overhead had been replaced with a wrought iron one, and black candles burned in it, casting the room into a flickering glow. In the center of the room was a round table covered in a black cloth. It held four wine goblets filled with a suspicious, thick liquid the wrong color of red to be wine. A bloody butcher knife rested in the middle of the table.

Masaki groaned. "Enough." His stomach turned anyway. "Get me out of here." He was both angry and scared at the time this was taking.

"Which version did you get?" Polly asked, all business. "The mutilated corpses, the room of coffins, or the animated skeletons?"

"Coffins," Masaki said. The corner of his mouth twitched. "You know, your sister is pretty childish."

" _Oh_. The coffins." Polly frowned. "As childish as it is, the truth is . . . you would have been better off with the animated skeletons."

Even as she spoke, the coffin lids began to move. Thumping and groaning emerged from each casket.

"Or even the mutilated corpses, really," Polly sighed.

One lid flew off.

* * *

Deeper inside the house, Kichijouji felt along the walls as Henrietta tracked him. The farther down the hallway Kichijouji went, the less it looked like any part of the mansion he'd seen the day before.

"Yes, _do_ try to escape," Henrietta said, tone snide. "I can pull more energy out of you that way."

Kichijouji shot her a glare over his shoulder and discovered she no longer looked like his mother. Instead, she was a tall, overly thin woman of about forty. Her cheeks were sunken in, and dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes. She had an eagle-like nose, long face, and brown hair shot through with a few streaks of grey. "Well, at least you look like you now, although my mother is prettier." He snarked her more out of fear than anything.

Henrietta barked out a harsh laugh. "I doubt she is prettier anymore. None of us are." For an instant, a skeletal figure flashed through the image of her body. She continued to float behind Kichijouji. "You know, I can taste your fear. Your bravado is as childish as your frail little body."

Kichijouji narrowed his eyes at her and turned away, still feeling along the walls. So far, he hadn't found a doorway, and he knew that had to be impossible. In fact, by now, he should have found the staircase. His theory about teleportation returned, but he hadn't felt any strange sensations. "Don't assume I'm frail just because I'm short and thin." He kept his tone off-hand. "I swim five miles a day at my school's pool." It was no lie. He was actually quite muscular, in that lithe, toned way swimmers had. "You appear to have been nearly starved, though. Did your family refuse to feed you much?" He wasn't sure how wise it was, but he wanted to keep her talking. Distracted, if possible.

Henrietta's mouth twitched. "My family was one of the wealthiest in the world. In my day, young man, my slender figure attracted a great many men. Don't assume that your backwards culture has the monopoly on the ideal of beauty."

"Typical British snobbery," Kichijouji said, irritated. "Or, rather, I should say, typical Westerner snobbery." He came to a corner and turned it, discovering it was real. _This truly isn't genjutsu. I don't know how to defeat genjutsu, so that's a good thing. But I also have no idea what's happening to me, which is a bad thing._ "So where the hell did you bring me to? Where are we in the mansion?" He wasn't sure she'd answer him honestly, but he took his best shot.

" _My_ mansion," she gloated. "Deeper and deeper. Where you'll never escape. You Japanese think you have the monopoly on magic, too. You think you're the only ones with powerful rituals. I'll show you the true power of Celtic ancient magic."

Goosebumps crept down Kichijouji's spine. "I'm well-read. And I read up on Celtic ancient magick." He knew she wasn't bluffing. The ancient magick of the Celts was a powerful thing. "I'm not the kind of person you have to convince." _Shit. They have spells and rituals we don't have. And it's near what we now call Halloween; that was the night the Celts believed spirits could walk among the living._ He glanced back at her again.

Henrietta appeared more solid. For Kichijouji, it was more like peering through frosted glass. "It's not All Hallows Eve yet, but you seem to be . . . solidifying. Why?" Even as he asked the question, Kichijouji realized he felt twice as cold as he had earlier. _That can't be good._

Henrietta chuckled. "The closer we get to my ritual chamber, the weaker you'll feel, my sweet sacrifice. By the time I have you lying on my altar, you'll be unable to move. You'll feel yourself falling into a deep sleep. I'm not unkind; I save my vengeance for those who deserve it. Comfort yourself with knowing the universe has selected a great purpose for you: aiding me in my revenge against those who have wronged me. Sacrifices have their place in the Wheel of Life."

Kichijouji stopped in his tracks and didn't take another step. All his bones felt made of ice. _Altar? Wheel of Life?_ In his mind, he saw flashes of a tarot deck. One of his female friends at school had a classic Rider-Waite-Smith deck, and she often did free readings at lunch or after school, just so she could practice. Kichijouji saw the image of The Magician, standing in front of his altar. Kichijouji doubted the ghost's altar would be so innocent and simple. Then he saw the card called The World, with its circular wreath. _I will not be the completion of this woman's vengeance._

Suddenly, Kichijouji saw a flash of the Queen of Cups—a positive card with a positive matron. He closed his eyes and imagined his mother. _If this place really is on a ley-line, if it really is a power sink . . . Mom! Come to me!_

A weird, powerful vibe flashed through Kichijouji's chest. It was nearly a vibration. He opened his eyes and saw the image of his mother standing before him, just as he'd seen her the night before.

But Henrietta still hovered behind him.

His mother narrowed her eyes at Henrietta. "Get the hell away from my son!"

Kichijouji was quite sure this couldn't really be happening to him. And yet, somehow, it was.

Henrietta jerked back several feet and stared at Kichijouji's mother with a look of stunned consternation furrowing her brow. Her gaze snapped to Kichijouji. "You're only a child! You couldn't possibly have subverted my will." Energy crackled around her, and her fingernails grew to claws. "This is my house. My _home_. How dare you invite a foreign spirit without my permission!" She flashed and flickered and became a skeletal figure in scraps of clothing.

Henrietta let out a shriek at Kichijouji's mother. "Get out of my house!"

Kichijouji gasped, shocked by the ghost's sudden corporeal form. _None of this is possible!_ But he sprinted several feet down the hallway, hovering behind his mother's spirit. _Wait. If she's corporeal now . . ._

Kichijouji's mother crossed her arms. "It's not _your_ house. It's your _family's_ house. And the other three familial spirits here granted me permission. As in, your sisters." Her tone was stern. Unwavering. "The non-familial spirits don't have the power to bar my entry." She snorted. "And of course I would come to my son. After all, _you_ made sure this was a power sink. So _you_ supplied him with the extra power necessary to summon me."

"You bitch!" Henrietta flew at Kichijouji's mother, lashing out with orbs of raw magic.

Kichijouji almost smiled at his mother's attitude. She was as strong as he remembered her being—intelligent, bold, confident. But then Henrietta attacked. He jerked up his arm, punching a three-digit code into his wristband CAD, and fired off a spell. Now that Henrietta was a skeleton, the spell connected solidly, flinging her down the hallway.

"Henrietta-san has a funeral urn," Kichijouji's mother said, glancing back at him. "In her altar room. Find it. Destroy it! She's concentrated all her power there." She turned to face Henrietta. "I'll hold her off."

Henrietta let out a scream and launched herself at Kichijouji's mother again, firing off more raw orbs. "You little upstart! What makes you think you can defeat me?"

Kichijouji's mother held up one hand. A blast of pure white energy erupted from her palm, slamming into Henrietta and hurling her back down the hallway.

Kichijouji didn't wait another moment. He turned and raced down the hallway, accepting the fact it was a real hallway and not an illusion. _Altar room. Urn. Right._ It was a kind of magic he knew nothing about, but he trusted his mother implicitly. She had entered The Beyond, after all. She no doubt had access to all sorts of new knowledge. _Yes, hold her off, Mom! I just need a little time._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Masaki tensed. Cold sweat dripped down his neck as he pointed his CAD at the coffins, all of which blew open one by one.

Nothing emerged.

Instead, a foul, sucking wind suddenly kicked up, smelling of rotten eggs. The wind howled and tore at the curtains. Small objects flew through the air. The butcher knife, glasses, and the table cloth all swirled around the coffins before being sucked into them.

"What the hell?" Masaki yelled above the noise. He had to use a gravity spell just to keep his footing.

"One of my sister's specialties!" Polly shouted back. "A vortex for each coffin. You'll be sucked into another section of the mansion and trapped there to face some other evil. Try not to lose your grounding, but we still have to cross the room and get out." She floated forward.

"I can't even walk in this!" Masaki protested, but he tried to follow.

On the third step, a vase came barreling from the other end of the room and smashed into his side. The impact broke his concentration on recasting the gravity spell, and he tumbled into the nearest coffin, banging his head against the lid in the process. He barely managed to keep his grip on his CAD.

The next thing he knew, he was slammed against a cold, hard surface. He couldn't breathe or move for several moments, his side and head aching. He registered he was in a new room. His teeth chattered and his nose and ears stung from the chill. At first, he thought the room was nearly pitch black, but his eyes adjusted as he struggled to his feet. A single, bare lightbulb illuminated a wooden staircase off to the left.

"It's the wine cellar," said a familiar voice. A lilting, soft, boyish voice Masaki knew all too well. "You'll be here for awhile. All the other students are wandering through the mansion searching for us but, of course, finding nothing. Wentworth-sama has been trapped in his own bathroom by Henrietta-san."

As Masaki's eyes finished adjusting, he saw Kichijouji lying on his side near the far wall, facing away from him.

"I was teleported across the mansion," Kichijouji continued, his tone vaguely flat. "Henrietta-san followed me around and harassed me."

Masaki holstered his CAD, ran to Kichijouji's side, and dropped down to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Kichijouji and then jerked. "You're cold." He lifted Kichijouji in his arms. "Let's get out of here. There's got to be a way. We're not staying here. We're getting out, just like I promised, and we're going to have breakfast on me."

Kichijouji gazed up at him. Even in the dim light, Masaki could see that Kichijouji was ghastly pale. Blood marred his forehead. A rune had been cut into his flesh there. "Well, you won't be leaving by the staircase. And I won't be leaving at all." He sighed. "Masaki, before I go, I just want to confess one thing. I won't be able to rest peacefully otherwise. I love you. As in, I'm _in_ love with you. And I have been for five years now."

Masaki clutched Kichijouji to his chest. "I know. I know! But you're not going anywhere. I'm going to save you. Even if I have to blast this whole house down around us. I'm saving you. Don't worry. Don't worry about anything."

Kichijouji smiled and reached up, touching cold fingers to Masaki's cheek. "That just makes me love you more."

Kichijouji's hand dropped.

The eyes gazing up at Masaki suddenly seemed to look through him.

A faint exhalation followed as Kichijouji's body slumped in Masaki's arms.

"Jouji!" Masaki collapsed on top of Kichijouji, sobbing. He couldn't let go. He just held on tighter. "Jouji, breathe!" His voice cracked. "Please stay with me! Don't abandon me! Don't let me go!"

Kichijouji's voice came from Masaki's right side. "Please don't cry, Masaki." His voice was the softest Masaki had ever heard it. "You couldn't have saved me. Henrietta-san was already done draining out my life force in order to turn herself corporeal again."

Masaki set down Kichijouji's body and swiveled toward the voice. His tears were frost against his cheeks. "No!" He wrenched himself to his feet, staring. " _No!_ "

Kichijouji rubbed the rune carved into his forehead. Even as a ghost, he still retained it. Otherwise, he looked as he always had: sweet-faced, wide-eyed, and wearing his school uniform rather than the PJs he'd died in. "Masaki, you need to get out of the cellar. The rune Henrietta carved into me is a hex." The ghost was otherwise normally-complexioned, but even as Masaki watched, Kichijouji was turning paler. "It won't be safe for you much longer."

Masaki stilled. He took a step back, his senses kicking in. "No," he whispered. He drew his CAD. "I don't believe it. You're an illusion. This is still a genjutsu, and Jouji is still alive. I won't have it." His voice rose and cracked again. "I won't have it! Henrietta, come out and fight me. I'll blow your fucking face off!" He fired a spell at the image of Kichijouji, temporarily shattering it into blue sparks. "Give me back my Jouji!"

Kichijouji reformed in front of Masaki and looked crestfallen, a small frown bending his lips. "I wish it were that easy, Masaki. I wish I could say, 'So you want to play that game' like Henrietta-san did and then transform and have this not be real." Black rings appeared around Kichijouji's eyes, and the hex rune turned from the red of cut flesh to black. "I even summoned my mom's spirit here to help me fight off Henrietta-san, but Mom just wasn't strong enough. She's a normal spirit. Henrietta-san is something called a lich." By now, his skin was greyish-white.

"I fucking hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." With each repetition, Masaki blasted Kichijouji's form away again. Then he aimed at the wall and used Rupture, betting on the fact that if he could disrupt the moisture collected in the aged cellar's wall, it would make the wall crumble.

Part of the wall collapsed, sending dust and debris flying into the air.

"That's an extremely cruel thing to say to someone who just spent the last five years adoring you and loving you with his every breath," Kichijouji said. The hex rune flashed once—a crimson light. "Fortunately, I won't feel the pain of that for much—"

And then Kichijouji stopped mid-sentence and smirked. His entire posture changed to smug confidence. "Oh. That's much better." He rolled his shoulders as though he still had a physical form. "The hex finished kicking in." He held up his right hand and activated a gravity plus spell, jerking Masaki backwards into the far cellar wall with stunning force.

As lancing pain flashed through Masaki's body, he saw the wall crumble behind the creature that couldn't be Kichijouji, leaving a gaping black hole into the guts of the mansion. He hit the floor with a gasp and stood back up. His vision blurred and doubled, then regrouped.

Battle calm washed over Masaki. He felt a slight smile on his face as he aimed for the doppleganger's face and fired again, disrupting the spirit. "You'll pay for what you did to Kichijouji. You think you're scary? You've just met your worst nightmare: a grieving lover."

The spirit reformed again and smirked. "Am I, now? Too bad you didn't see fit to tell me that in life. Even as I was dying in your arms, all you said was 'I know.' Couldn't you at least tell a dying boy 'I love you?'" He flicked his hand. In rapid succession, a gravity plus spell erupted above Masaki, then below. Masaki was hurled to the ceiling and then back down at the floor.

Masaki picked himself up, his back and knees aching from the impacts. "You're not Jouji. Jouji would never give up. Jouji would strategize. Too bad you don't know anything about him. But then, why would you? You don't love him. You don't care about anything except yourself. That's the way all spirits are." _Where is the summoner? This is just a phantom._ He shot all around the doppleganger, destroying the walls chunk by chunk.

"Not give up?" Kichijouji asked. "I think you misunderstand the nature of a human body. I didn't _give up_. I was fatally wounded." He snapped up his palm and fired a half dozen Invisible Bullets. Even with his Interference Armor, Masaki was forced to dodge the final two.

"You told me I'd never get out of here." Masaki was vaguely aware that he was overstating his case, but he didn't care. "Jouji would never tell me that." He used a weaker, broader effect spell to shove the doppleganger out of the way. He ran past, into the darkness. _Polly-san, find me. Please._

The spirit tracked Masaki, whisking up alongside him and sneering. "Yes, run fast, lover boy. That sweet-faced child you abandoned upstairs doesn't have much life force left in him. At the rate Henrietta is draining him, he really will die in your arms." It snickered. "Do tell him you love him before he dies, yes? No one wants to die unloved." The spirit faded away. "Like I did," its voice whispered.

Tears stung Masaki's eyes, but he didn't falter. He forced himself to dig deep and use his adrenaline to keep going. For Kichijouji's sake.

* * *

Deep inside the altered mansion, Kichijouji raced down the hallway, turned a corner, and sprinted down the next one. It was a dead end, containing only a raw wooden door. _Please be the altar room. Please!_

Behind him, Henrietta was shrieking at his mother in both Japanese and English. Kichijouji caught a few words of the English, like "wench" and "harpy," but with all the screaming, he couldn't really understand the rest. Flashes of white light lit the hallway—psions from his mother's spells.

Kichijouji reached the door, panting hard and far more breathless and sweaty than he should have been. His legs even trembled. _I'm getting weak. Too weak._ He grabbed the ring-shaped door handle and wrenched the thick door open. He had to dig his heels into the floor, and his arm muscles quivered from the effort. Still, he opened it enough to slip inside.

Once he entered, Kichijouji halted, a blast of magical power washing over him like an invisible, cold blanket. Overhead hung a wrought iron chandelier containing black candles, all lit. A long, narrow table ran along the back wall. A candelabra made out of a man's hand stood in the middle, the dried flesh supported with black wires. Black candles had been inserted into the tip of each finger. Laid out on the altar were a dagger, a chalice, and a censer. A red candle was also free-standing, lit along with the gruesome candelabra.

Down the right side of the altar were glass vials containing tufts of human hair. On the left side, on a copper plate, lay a dead crow.

"Shit!" Kichijouji was so horrified he nearly ran back out of the room. He had no illusions about what he was seeing. It wasn't the Celtic Ancient Magick he'd read about on the internet. It was black magic.

Shadows swirled and peeled themselves off the wall, reaching for him. They pulsed with magical energy. _Intruder,_ they seemed to say, without audible words. The room grew colder, and an air current stirred.

Spooked by the sight, Kichijouji glanced around wildly. _Mom said an urn. There was to be an urn._ Along both sides of the room were bookcases, filled with tome after tome of old, leather-bound books. The musty smell of them saturated the air. Dispersed along the shelves were also large jars, wooden boxes, bowls, and a mortar and pestle. Kichijouji whisked down one side of the room, searching the bookcases for a funeral urn. _Or she could have moved her ashes into a box. Clearly she's managed to become corporeal before, at least in brief spurts._

Kichijouji's mom zipped right through the door. "I can't hold her off much longer! Liches are powerful creatures."

Suddenly, the floor crumbled away in great gaps. The whole house vibrated and groaned as if feeling pain at the destruction. A seemingly bottomless black pit gaped beneath, reeking of rot.

Kichijouji used a gravity plus code on instinct, drawing himself up to the ceiling. That accomplished, he input a code into his CAD—one for flight. After seeing Shiba Miyuki use it during their rookie year at the Nine Schools' Competition, Kichijouji had made sure he had the spell and practiced it well.

He flew across the gap to the other side, knowing Henrietta would never sacrifice her bookcases and all their contents. He began searching them. "Just a bit longer, Mom. Please." He saw a pastel blue urn decorated in white doves and zipped over to it. A fresh sweat broke out on his forehead from the effort of maintaining the flight spell while so exhausted.

"Of course, sweetheart," his mom murmured, facing the door.

Crackling electricity flashed down the hall and slammed into an invisible barrier in front of Kichijouji's mother. Thunder shook the house, booming. At least to the extent Kichijouji could understand, Henrietta was shrieking profanities in both languages.

Kichijouji snatched up the urn, discovering it was heavy enough to be a funeral urn. Human ashes were surprisingly weighty. He pulled off the lid and peered inside. Just as he suspected, Kichijouji found ashes intermixed with tiny bone fragments that had survived the cremation process. "This is it!"

"Break the urn on the altar and crush the bone fragments," his mother said.

"Not a problem." Kichijouji activated a gravity plus code on the wall over the altar and released the urn to it. It slammed into the stone wall and shattered. Instantly, Kichijouji activated a second one to draw the glass, bones, and ashes down onto the altar. They flew downward as though magnetized.

Henrietta flew right through the door and let out an agonized scream. She charged Kichijouji's mother and grappled with her, physically colliding and wrestling. "My bones!"

Kichijouji's mother threw up barrier after barrier spell, making her spirit as solid as she could in order to stave off the lich.

"Your bones," Kichijouji agreed with smug satisfaction. He flew over to the altar and released the flight spell. The floor there was still intact, providing him a spot to land. He grabbed the dagger and used the butt of the handle to smash the little bone fragments. "Cross over! You can't stay any longer." He flicked his left hand, firing off a small spell to knock the dead crow and the chalice to the floor. Wine splattered all over the stone, smelling more like vinegar than fruit. " _Get out!_ "

"Stop it! Stop it, stop it!" Henrietta screamed at him. She slumped and jerked, smoke rising off her shoulders, black and oily. Her jaw fell off and her hair disintegrated, falling off in a fragile puffball like the skins of long-dead mice.

Kichijouji slammed the final bone fragment into dust and then cast a simple wind spell to fling the bone dust and ash into the pit Henrietta had created. "Thanks for the simple clean-up," he quipped. He lifted one hand in a casual gesture. "You really made it convenient for me in the end."

Henrietta crumbled at that moment, just like her bones. She was unable even to reply to Kichijouji's words.

Kichijouji watched the lich's remains tumble into the pit, wanting visual evidence she really was gone.

Kichijouji's mother pointed to a glass jar on the nearest bookcase. It was filled with putrid fluid—a yellow-green—and tufts of hair, human finger bones, and a few other things Kichijouji didn't want to look at too closely. Runes had been painted on the jar in red and black.

"Destroy that, too," his mother said. "It'll undo all her alterations to the mansion. Well, the ones she did today, anyway."

Kichijouji carefully worked his way over to the bookcase—he was on a ledge—and grabbed the jar. He returned to the altar with it and smashed it on the floor. The stench from the liquid was so bad it made him retch, but since his stomach was empty, all he could do was dry heave.

Kichijouji's mother used a spell to clear the contents, liquid and all, into the pit. Then the damage began reversing itself, the stones returning one by one to create a floor.

"Such strange and powerful magic," Kichijouji whispered, dropping to his knees and sitting on his heels. He was utterly exhausted. Beyond exhausted.

"The darkest you will likely ever see," his mother said. She floated over to him and leaned down as though to kiss his forehead.

Warm tingles spread over Kichijouji's skin, and he smiled. "Thank you, Mom. I love you."

His mother's spirit straightened and smiled. "And I adore you. So does your father. We're watching over you, along with some of your other ancestors. We won't reincarnate until you have passed away and join us." She faded slowly. "You make us proud, dear Shinkuro."

Kichijouji watched the white glow fade and then wept.

* * *

Masaki ran, feeling suspended in time. Cold sweat slicked his hair to his forehead and the back of his neck. Wall after wall closed him in. _A staircase. Come on, a staircase! Any staircase! Take me back up._

Then, suddenly, doors and open rooms started appearing on either side of him. A moment after that, a staircase appeared, winding upward.

Masaki took it, his legs quivering. "Jouji! Where are you? Jouji!"

Masaki emerged on the first floor in a room decorated in yellow, floral wallpaper and furniture covered with plastic protectors. Sunlight seeped through the windows, peeking out from behind the clouds.

Polly appeared before him. She smiled, and even as a ghost, her entire demeanor seemed brighter. "This way, Ichijou-sama. We have to go to the back of the house." She led Masaki through the current room, out a door on the opposite side, and then down a narrow hallway. "Your friend is in the basement under the old kitchen."

Masaki followed her through a door, then another hallway, and then down a cramped staircase. The staircase opened up at the bottom into a musty basement that branched off in several directions. Old barrels and boxes were scattered around.

"Please tell your friend all of the spirits here are _eternally_ grateful," Polly said, stopping by a raw wooden door with a ring knob. Her lips quirked. "The perfect idiom for this occasion, don't you think?"

Although she didn't have to, Polly floated aside so Masaki could slip through the crack and into the room beyond. "And please take good care of him. He lost a lot of energy fighting my sister."

Masaki wrenched the door open and burst through, panicking at that. "Jouji?"

He saw Kichijouji lying on the floor beside an altar covered in macabre artifacts. "Jouji!" He ran to Kichijouji's side and pulled Kichijouji into his arms. The feeling of Kichijouji's warmth, diminished but still present, made him weep. He rocked Kichijouji back and forth, rocked them both back and forth. "I've got you. I've got you. It's all right." He stroked Kichijouji's hair. "I love you. I'm sorry I didn't say so before. I'm sorry."

Kichijouji had stopped crying from watching his mother's spirit depart, but at Masaki's words, he teared up again. He wrapped his arms around Masaki's waist and clung with all his remaining strength. "Masaki! I love you, too. God, I never thought I'd get to say so!" He tucked his forehead against Masaki's neck and pressed his face into his shirt. Being in Masaki's arms, feeling Masaki's warmth, and hearing Masaki's words revived Kichijouji's emotional strength.

Masaki struggled to his feet, picking up Kichijouji as he did. His legs shook at the marathon he'd put them through. He clutched Kichijouji to his chest and pressed kisses to Kichijouji's forehead. "We're going to get out of here. We're going to get breakfast. In a brightly lit diner. Surrounded by living people. We're going to be all right."

Kichijouji shifted his grip so that he had one arm around Masaki's shoulders. He grabbed a fistful of Masaki's shirt and clung. "Okay. Sounds wonderful." His forehead tingled again, this time from the warmth of real lips. A blush heated his cheeks, and he let Masaki carry him out of the defiled altar room. "I knew you'd keep fighting until you found me," he whispered.

That made Masaki tear up again. "I knew you'd keep fighting until I came. I knew you'd never give up. _Never_ give up." He shook his head. "You'd never leave me alone. You'd never let them win. Neither will I." A determined, little frown bent his lips. "No matter where we are, we're going to be there together. Forever. You understand that, right?" He barely knew where he was going; he was just trying to find his way back to their room so they could grab their suitcases.

"I understand," Kichijouji murmured, smiling. He had made up his mind long since that he would always be by Masaki's side. He'd told Masaki so, using the context of serving in the military together as a cover for his romantic feelings. Masaki had agreed readily then, and now Masaki was agreeing to it with open romantic intentions. "I will never be anywhere else except by your side. I _refuse_ to be anywhere else." He lay his head on Masaki's shoulder; he was having trouble staying awake. But he had one more thing to say: "Once we're back home and have rested up, take me on a date. Okay?"

Masaki smiled and nodded. "I will."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Five hours later, Masaki and Kichijouji finally reached Masaki's house. Masaki's mom fed them lunch while they explained to her what had happened; Masaki's dad was still at work. Ichijou Midori took in the story with no small amount of consternation and sent the boys off to rest. Masaki's sisters were given strict instructions not to bother them.

By the time Kichijouji reached Masaki's room, he felt exhausted again. He'd slept propped up against Masaki for most of their ride home. He watched as Masaki shut his bedroom door and then looked at Masaki's bed longingly. "Can we lie down together?"

Masaki hugged Kichijouji, pulled Kichijouji over to the bed with him, and collapsed on it, taking Kichijouji with him. "That's all I want. All I want is some time to be with you. To be alive."

Kichijouji settled at Masaki's side as Masaki lay on his back, and then he sprawled over Masaki's chest, hugging his waist. He rested his head on Masaki's shoulder and sighed in relief. "Yes. Seeing all these spirits really made me focus on my mortality." He pressed a kiss to Masaki's cheek. "I'm sorry one of the spirits pretended to be me. That's horrifying." Masaki had told him about the experience while they ate breakfast.

Masaki embraced Kichijouji more tightly. "I just – I don't want to see that again. I don't want to lose you. I'm so tired, but I'll fight all over again if I have to. I'll fight and fight and fight. I can't stand to lose you."

At hearing that, Kichijouji couldn't wait a moment longer to share a first kiss. He reached up, cupping Masaki's cheek and tilting his face to the side. Then he raised himself up on his elbow for ease of access. He gazed down at Masaki's handsome, sweet face, and a wave of love washed through him, warm and tingling. "Masaki," he whispered, his entire reply packed into the adoration with which he said the name. Then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Masaki's lips.

Masaki kissed back, clumsy at first and then getting better, lining up so that he could mouth Kichijouji's lips, pressing into the warmth and affection and aliveness. He needed this. He needed confirmation that everything was real and he wasn't disconnected somehow. That his love was understood, Kichijouji loved him, and everything would be okay.

A soft moan escaped Kichijouji as they figured out how to kiss. He mouthed Masaki's lips in return, heat seeping through his body until it reached his fingers and toes. He felt exquisitely alive, special, loved. This was what he'd dreamed of sharing with Masaki for five years. _I love you._

As if by instinct, Kichijouji kissed Masaki a bit deeper, and then slipped his tongue past his lips. He paused, caught by the sensation, and then caressed Masaki's tongue.

Masaki moaned deeply and trembled, struck through with a pang of painfully strong desire. He flushed as his underwear grew wet and his erection throbbed. He squeezed Kichijouji and kissed him in return, gently caressing tongues, his breath coming shorter and quicker and deeper. Masaki felt both nervous and exhilarated.

Kichijouji could feel the passion building between them. He could feel that they were both hard now. He moaned along with Masaki, loving the sound of Masaki's pleasure and sinking into the kiss. It felt intimate. Right. They had shared so much already, emotionally—far more than the kids at school believed boys could share. Now they could share physically. Kichijouji ran one hand over Masaki's chest as they kissed, slipping it under the uniform jacket. He discovered one nipple was hard, and with fascination, he caressed it through the cotton.

The caressing made Masaki's head fly back as he cried out. Shock and intense pleasure shot through him straight to his groin. "I – ah – " His legs trembled, and he experimentally ran his hands over Kichijouji's chest in return.

"Oh, god!" Kichijouji had not been prepared for the return caress. His nipples tingled, and it sent a flood of heat down his body, making his underwear wet. He met Masaki's gaze, both of them wide-eyed. Then, with silent agreement, they hastily removed everything but their shirts and pants. Their jackets, vests, ties, belts, and even socks all went flying onto the floor.

"We're rushing right in," Kichijouji whispered. He didn't mind. At all. "We held out for too long, not admitting this." And with that proclamation, he unbuttoned the first few buttons of Masaki's shirt and then slipped his hand inside. Warm, smooth skin met his fingers. To caress Masaki's chest this way was divine. Kichijouji found the nipple again and caressed it, skin to skin.

Masaki fell onto his back with a cry, squeezing his eyes shut at the bolt of pleasure and desire. "Do it again. Do it _more_." His whole body trembled, and he was struck by a feeling of malleable heat inside. His innate self-consciousness about his body faded, and he wanted Kichijouji to help him find release. "I want to—to share this." He ran a hand down Kichijouji's side and gently tugged on Kichijouji's shirt, pulling him toward him.

Kichijouji didn't have to be asked twice. He had five years of daydreams to act upon. "I want to share it with you." He blushed. " _All_ of it." He unbuttoned Masaki's shirt the rest of the way, tugging it free of his pants as he did. He splayed the material wide, baring Masaki's muscular chest, and caved into his instincts, into his fantasies. He leaned down and lapped over Masaki's right nipple, tracing it and caressing it with his tongue.

Masaki arched and cupped the back of Kichijouji's head, gasping out a moan. His whole body was taut and sensitized. The throbbing in his groin intensified, and a joyful feeling spread through him, making his entire body feel open and ready. "Yes." He stroked Kichijouji's hair. "That's good . . . "

At the caress to his hair and the words of encouragement, Kichijouji felt a flush sweep through his entire body. He moaned against Masaki's skin and began sucking and lapping on his nipple. His eyes had fluttered shut, and he felt his world narrow down to the feeling of Masaki's body under him, hot and trembling. His hearing seemed fine-tuned to Masaki's gasps and moans. His tongue and lips felt sensitive to the warm skin against them, the nipple hard. "Masaki," he gasped, then switched to the other nipple, loving on it as well.

Masaki arched and cried out once again. His nipple quickly warmed under Kichijouji's care, and he stroked and massaged Kichijouji's scalp, his legs falling open farther. His hips began to rock, his erection straining against his clothes and aching for stimulation. He wrapped his other arm around Kichijouji and squeezed the small of Kichijouji's back, moaning. Even as he wondered where they were going to end up, he felt safe and loved, and his soul cried out with relief at this warmth and intimacy after the struggles they'd endured.

Kichijouji's breath stuttered as Masaki began rocking his hips. He lifted his face, blushing hotly. "Masaki . . . do you . . .?" He forced himself to say intimate words. "Do you need help with . . . release? I'll—I'll touch you. There." His own erection ached at the mere thought that he could bring Masaki to orgasm.

"Y-Yes," Masaki admitted. "Oh, god, if you would, Jouji . . . " His hips trembled at the effort of stilling his motion. His heart palpitated.

"I will," Kichijouji said quickly. He unbuttoned and unzipped Masaki's pants, and then Masaki lifted his hips and helped Kichijouji get both the pants and underwear down to his knees. Kichijouji was struck by how beautifully erotic this was—Masaki half-naked and in pleasure. "You're gorgeous," he whispered. "Including this part." He wrapped his hand around Masaki and caressed.

Masaki closed his eyes and lay back, his whole body relaxing. He could feel a bead of wetness welling up on his tip and sliding down. A moan emerged from him, long and low. "Jouji, I love you. Always be my boyfriend. I'll protect you, and you'll protect me." He knew it was sheer idealism, but he had to say it.

"I'll be your boyfriend, even after you're married," Kichijouji said with grim determination. "Find a wife who believes in ethical polyamory. I will, too." That vow made, he relaxed into the act of stroking Masaki. He gazed up at Masaki's expression of bliss and promised himself he would bring Masaki this pleasure as often as possible now that he could finally express his love this way.

"You're a genius,' Masaki whispered, overwhelmed by Kichijouji's solution. "I knew I could count on you t-to . . . " His voice faded out into a moan. He fell limp against the mattress except for his hips, which nudged his erection up into Kichijouji's hand. "Oh, god, that feels so good." His nipples tingled. "Jouji, let me do this for you when we're done."

The hot blush returned to Kichijouji's cheeks, stinging. "Y-yes. Of course I will." The idea of Masaki touching him this way made him squirm a bit. He stroked a little faster, urged onward by the way Masaki pressed up into his hand. _You're unbelievably sexy, Masaki. Just beautiful._

Masaki was embarrassed, but he knew he couldn't hold out much longer. He didn't know how, and they were new to this, anyway. "I'm gonna – " He arched and whimpered. "Just a little more, Jouji. A little faster and I'll be able to – " He moaned with desperation, self-consciousness, and pleasure.

"Oh, god," Kichijouji gasped, understanding. Little flutters of empathetic pleasure wafted through him. He sped up his hand, as Masaki asked. "Yes, please do, Masaki. Even that will be gorgeous." _Especially so, because it's your pleasure._

Masaki's lips trembled, and the tremor passed through his whole body. He focused hard on Kichijouji's hand stroking him. The hot pleasure spiked and then overflowed. He moaned and twisted and then came, gasping out with every wave. By the time he finished, he was sweaty, and his head was spinning.

Kichijouji watched, struck with both arousal and love. He felt vaguely light-headed by how turned on he was by this point. "Hold on," he whispered. He slipped into Masaki's bathroom—the mansion was both big and fancy enough that Masaki had his own—and got a hand towel to clean up the mess.

Kichijouji returned and cleaned off Masaki, and then he draped himself over him, embracing him. "It was beautiful, just like I knew it would be."

Masaki couldn't make more than a few agreeable noises in response. As soon as he could, he wrapped his arms around Kichijouji in return. "It felt good," he whispered, "with you." He felt more settled in his being than he had before. More sure of himself. Kichijouji's warmth on top of him helped.

"Yes." Kichijouji buried his face against Masaki's neck, blushing once again. The idea that Masaki had enjoyed sharing this level of intimacy with him swept him away, and on top of that, he knew his turn would be next. He'd been naked around Masaki before in places like bathhouses, but this would be different. It was more than nudity; it was allowing someone to see him at his most vulnerable. And yet he had always wished to do this with Masaki. "I'm ready," he whispered. "Once you've recovered enough."

Masaki nodded. He reached up and caressed Kichijouji's cheek. The gesture was new, but the urge wasn't. His acceptance of what that meant kindled a warm glow in his chest. "I'm recovered. How would you like me to hold you? I want you to be comfortable."

Somehow that question made Kichijouji even more aroused. The care in it appealed to him, made him feel special and wanted. He imagined a few different things, then settled on one. "I want to sit sideways across your lap so you can wrap one arm around me." He also wanted to be held against Masaki's chest and perhaps be able to hide his face against Masaki's neck when things got intense at the end.

Masaki arranged the pillows on his bed and sat up, then helped Kichijouji onto his lap. The intimacy and the sweetness of their position, with one arm around Kichijouji and nestling Kichijouji against his chest, made Masaki blush. He felt turned on and also protective, unable to help reflecting on all the closeness they'd shared when no one else was around. That all made sense now: the special feeling of being alone with Kichijouji, their urge to steal away from everyone else so that they could truly let down their machismo. "We're in love," he whispered. "And we always were." He kissed Kichijouji's forehead and then Kichijouji's lips.

"Yes. Always." Kichijouji knew it was true on his side, and now Masaki had admitted he had been as well. Kichijouji felt as though he couldn't contain any more joy, his happiness was so complete. He pressed a kiss to Masaki's lips and then pulled his pants and underwear down.

A moment of self-consciousness washed through Kichijouji, but the sexiness of the situation helped buoy him. His pants and underwear were now down around his knees, and Masaki was going to love him right into an orgasm for the first time. Kichijouji rested his head against Masaki's shoulder, his entire body tingling with arousal.

Masaki took a deep breath, momentarily overcome. Kichijouji's rosy, slightly curved erection was different than seeing glimpses of Kichijouji when they were just hanging out at a bathhouse or washing after practice. "You're so beautiful. The most beautiful boy I've ever met. I doubt that's ever going to change." He touched Kichijouji with awe, running his hand over Kichijouji's erection and balls gently. Then, swallowing hard, he wrapped his hand around Kichijouji's erection and gave it a slow pump, feeling his way through touching another boy for the first time. It felt so right that he wasn't even nervous. He also leaned down and kissed Kichijouji's neck.

A deep, long moan escaped Kichijouji at that simple touch followed by the kiss. He tilted his head so Masaki could have better, easier access to his neck. He hadn't expected for Masaki to find him beautiful, and hearing that their admiration was mutual, he relaxed into Masaki's embrace and just let go. "Feels good," he gasped.

That was what Masaki needed to feel sure of himself. He closed his eyes and buried his face against Kichijouji's neck, moaning softly. As he pressed slow, gentle kisses to Kichijouji's neck, he stroked Kichijouji's erection, gathering wetness on his palm from Kichijouji's tip with every pass. He relaxed into stroking Kichijouji the way he would stroke himself, unhurried, slightly twisting his hand as he pumped in straight motions, massaging as well as extending his strokes to the longest. Masaki's own erection stirred again at expressing his love for Kichijouji this way.

A powerful tremor of pleasure swept through Kichijouji, making his hips quiver. "Oh, god," he moaned, his voice three notes lower than usual. He felt as though Masaki were slowly consuming him, pouring out passion with dedicated patience. "Masaki . . ." His neck tingled from the kisses, and he felt his muscles melting, relaxing. Even in his best daydreams, he still hadn't imagined it would feel as good as this.

Masaki moaned and nuzzled Kichijouji's neck. "You feel perfect in my arms," he whispered. Kichijouji's moans encouraged him to firm up his grip a little more. Masaki passed his thumb over Kichijouji's tip for a moment and lightly sucked on Kichijouji's neck. His own erection throbbed at his hope that this felt even better for Kichijouji.

At the caress to his tip, Kichijouji cried out and had to muffle himself with his hand. The pleasure radiating throughout him was not unknown to him—he had teased himself this way before—but having Masaki do it was far more powerful. "Yes," he gasped, lowering his hand. "Masaki . . ." He slipped one arm behind Masaki's waist and clung to him, his heart pounding from his arousal.

Masaki shifted his grip upward and switched to shorter strokes, focusing on the top of Kichijouji's erection and teasing Kichijouji's tip with every pass. His own arousal and excitement spiked, making him wet and hyper-alert to every reaction of Kichijouji's. "Yes. Feel good. I want you to. I want you to always feel good and safe and loved." The spontaneous confession made both vulnerability and love swell inside his chest.

With this reassurance, matched with the shorter strokes, Kichijouji's pleasure spiked. He threw his hand over his mouth, muffling himself as he fell into sharp moans and cries. He could feel his hips straining as he pressed up into Masaki's touch, his entire core tightening. He realized he couldn't last this way; he was too sensitive from this being their first time. "Masaki!" he wailed through his hand, his body peaking.

Masaki's eyes flew open. He held Kichijouji tightly to him with one arm while he pumped faster with his other hand, feeling wetness sliding between his fingers. "Yes," he whispered. "It's okay." He matched his hand with the way Kichijouji's hips moved.

The simple reassurance was all Kichijouji needed, and he wailed wordlessly as his body finished cresting. He had a fleeting thought that he hoped Masaki wouldn't mind the mess—he had come quite hard—but then he collapsed, pleasantly exhausted and panting to catch his breath. A wave of fuzzy warmth washed through him.

Masaki pressed kisses Kichijouji's face, overcome and overflowing with warm feelings too complicated to catalogue. He hugged Kichijouji to him tightly and then used the same towel Kichijouji had used earlier to clean up some of the mess before it became uncomfortable. Then he settled down on his back, clutching Kichijouji to his chest and pulled the covers over them. He wanted to snuggle for a while before they got up. He found himself stroking Kichijouji's hair. "You're beautiful. You're beautiful and you're wonderful and you're mine."

Kichijouji settled against Masaki's side and used his shoulder for a pillow. The compliments buzzed inside him, along with the reassurance that he was Masaki's boyfriend, permanently. "And you're mine," he whispered, caressing Masaki's chest. He rested a moment, still feeling the afterglow, and then spoke again. "I suffered needlessly at that mansion, but to have this as a result of it . . . I wouldn't take back the experience. Not when the bad led to something wonderful."

Masaki kissed Kichijouji's forehead. "I'm so sorry all that happened. Polly said she and all the other spirits wanted to thank you for releasing them. You saved a lot of trapped people with what you did. They all crossed over now. For what it's worth, you're a hero."

Kichijouji was shocked to hear he'd been thanked, but the logic of Henrietta's removal freeing the other spirits made sense based on what he'd experienced at the mansion. "I'm glad then," he murmured. "And I'm glad I got to 'see' my mom." He chuckled faintly. "This screws up my previous clean, tidy, scientific view of the world, though. Even with all my research on magic, I never had run across any proof of things like this. And then I lived it." He snorted. "Now I have to rearrange my concept of the world." He pressed a kiss to Masaki's jaw. "But at least I have a boyfriend to help me do it."

Masaki hugged Kichijouji and rubbed his back. "I'm always here for you. Always. Even when it seems like we've been separated, I'm coming to find you. You're never alone."

"I'm always here for you, too." Kichijouji let his eyes drift shut, deciding to take a quick nap before they got officially cleaned up. He was still exhausted, after all. But as he slipped into sleep, he did so knowing he was safe and loved.

* * *

 _A/N: My apologies for the month-long wait for this chapter. This has been, quite honestly, the second to roughest six months of my life. I'm just glad I can resume writing anything at all._

 _Speaking of resuming, I have also begun chapter 6 of "Just a Kiss."_

 _Thank you to all my readers and reviewers._


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